


The Tiara Tragedies

by Lyzzybelle



Series: Stories I started to write (and might one day finish) [1]
Category: Glee, Supernatural
Genre: Dean is a bodyguard, F/M, It is a crossover so of course it is an AU, Rachel is a pop superstar, She is being stalked, The stalking is very creepy, There will be deaths and killings, seriously
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-04-04
Updated: 2014-04-03
Packaged: 2018-01-18 02:28:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,351
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1411570
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lyzzybelle/pseuds/Lyzzybelle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU Rachel Berry is a famous singer who is getting death threats. Her agent hires Dean Winchester, of the prestigious "Singer Security" –body guards to the rich and ultra-rich. The problem? Dean thinks she is a stuck up diva and Rachel thinks he is an ignorant jackass…this doesn't stop the sparks from flying however…some fluff, some intrigue and …well…um…*blushes*</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

** Prologue **

The scissors cut cleanly through the glossy photograph, one gloved hand carefully held the photo, gently turning it as the newly sharpened metal shears sliced through the stock until only one smiling face, approximately one and a half inches in diameter, was separated from the rest of the cast. Carefully, the facial image was set down on the table. Another photograph, identical to the first, was picked up and the process was repeated.

Music blared from the IPod station nearby and the figure hummed along, both sounds masking the muffled and panicked noises that came from the gagged woman who was bound and laying on a cot. Tears leaked from the woman's hazel eyes as she looked around and prayed for a miraculous rescue.

When the cutting was finished, the discarded pieces of the photograph were brushed into the trash. The person turned and frowned, catching sight of the tear stained face before approaching the trembling woman.

_All my careful work- ruined!_

Gloved fingers wrapped themselves around the fragile neck and began to squeeze.

_Oh well, it's only a dress rehearsal. Practice makes perfect!_

The woman tried to thrash, tried to fight the bonds that held her down to the cot, but her efforts were futile.

A few minutes later, the bonds were loosened and her lifeless frame was carefully propped up, back to the wall and large pillows on either side. Her chestnut hair was brushed until it gleamed and styled, the make up on her face was gently removed and painstakingly re-applied, until the face looked _perfect_. An (almost) perfect match to the face on the cut out photo.

The figure frowned noting the creases in the designer dress and made a mental note for the _actual_ event. The gloved fingers smoothed the wrinkles and placed a white satin sash over the shoulder until it rested diagonally across the woman's body.

Gently, the woman was laid down and the two cut photos of the smiling image were placed over her eyes.

For a moment, the killer stepped back from the corpse and calmly contemplated the corpse, making a few mental notes for _next time._ After a few moments, the gloved hands picked up a nearby digital camera and began to take a series of photographs, pausing occasionally to reposition an arm or smooth (another) wrinkle in the dress. Once finished, the camera was connected to a computer where each downloaded image was carefully scrutinized until the perfect image was selected and printed into 5x7 photo images.

One photograph was placed into an envelope along with a piece of paper and carefully the strip of glossy plastic that covered the adhesive was pulled away so the envelope could be sealed.

The second photograph was proudly placed into an autograph book.

Now it was time to dispose of the body.

 


	2. First Impressions

**First Impressions**

**Twenty six hours later…**

**Vancouver, BC**

Dean groaned as his cell phone rang, _again._ He had lost track of the number of calls that had come through on his phone ,determined to ignore each one as was his pattern after he finished a job. Fourty-eight hours of complete avoidance with the real world of which, (he glanced at the clock on the hotel night table), he still had one hundred and eleven minutes remaining.

"Mmmm." The throaty purr drew his attention and he shifted his weight to look at the shapely form beside him. Aware of his attention, she stretched her body, the light sheet covering her form slipped from her torso, exposing one perfect, surgically-enhanced breast.

His eyes followed the sheet as she shifted the position, until the other breast came into view. The blonde (Sherrie? Kerry?) opened her eyes and smiled.

"See something you like?"

Dean grinned and lowered his mouth to lick, nibble and suck on the banquet of golden skin that was enticingly laid before him. In response the woman arched her back, lightly ran her fingers over his scalp and moaned.

"Ohh….mmmm….ahhh." she gasped breathlessly. He pulled the sheet completely off her body and slapped his hand onto the night table, patting the surface until he found the object he required. His mouth continued its lazy exploration, moving further south and his fingers ripped open the little foil packet, but did not remove its contents. He put the condom on the bed, shifted until his head was poised between her thighs. Her sounds became louder, her movements more frantic until she shuddered and called him God.

He slid the condom on and was poised above her, when she looked at him, her eyes slightly dazed.

"Oh my god…that was…" she gasped and Dean chuckled as he slid into her wet heat.

Ninety minutes later, he was showered, dressed and on his way out of the hotel. While he waited for the valet to bring his car around, he scrolled through the call log on his phone, frowning at the number of missed calls from his boss. Ellen knew Dean's rule about no contact for forty-eight hours after a job (especially a job as long and as intense as the last one had been). Normally, she respected his request.

The phone in his hand buzzed and once again, Ellen's name flashed on the small screen. He had a brief debate with himself on the wisdom of ignoring her calls, but decided it would be petty to make her wait the extra twenty or so minutes. Still, he was annoyed.

"Ellen." Irritation leached into his voice as he greeted his boss.

"Don't take that tone with me Dean." Her tone immediately had his spine stiffening like a child that had been caught in the midst of mischief. "It's about damn time. I was about to active the GPS tracking on your phone and find you in whichever hotel you had managed to hide yourself away this time."

"Not hiding." He bristled at the implication that he, Dean Winchester, would do anything so cowardly.

"Which city are you in right now?"

Dean stifled the groan. "You have _got_ to be kidding me."

"You've known me long enough to know that when it comes to the job, I am always serious. Now answer the damn question."

"Vancouver."

Dean gathered from the muffled conversation that took place after he disclosed his location that Ellen was talking to someone else. The valet pulled up his rental, a black chevy Impala and while this car could never compare to the forty-five year 'younger' model of the car that he kept in Bobby's garage, at least it was marginally better than the the PT Cruiser that the car rental agent had tried to press on to him.

Dean tipped the valet and slid into the plush interior of the car and immediately longed for the crinkle and smell of his own leather seats. He glanced at the digital radio display and sighed. They just don't make them like they used to.

"Dean." Ellen was back. He heard her fingers typing on a keyboard in the background. "Garth is calling the Vancouver International Airport as we speak. You can pick up a ticket at the airline-"

"No. No. Nuh-uh. Ellen, I am not flying-"

"Dean. You have to. It's Sam…he's in the hospital."

_Sammy?_ All thoughts flew out of Dean's head.

"Which airline?" he asked, fingers tightening painfully around the phone.

He broke more than a few traffic laws (Seriously, if the Autobahn in Germany didn't have a speed limit, then shouldn't North America try to stay competitive and follow suit? And the who in the hell came up with the idea of a "carpool" lane? As far as he was concerned, it only contributed to traffic problems by further congesting heavily trafficked areas.) and within two hours was strapped into a comfy seat in first class.

Dean knew it was Ellen's way of apologizing for making him fly. She knew how he hated ( _not_ scared damnit) to fly. Dean grinned half-heartedly with the flame haired flight attendant and only gave a brief thought to wonder if the curtain matched the drapes before he ordered a double scotch.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yep - I know First Impressions was the original title to Pride and Prejudice. Will this be a rip off? Maybe, if Lizzy was being stalked by a psycho killer and Darcy was the her reluctant body guard.


End file.
